CHAPTER SEVEN: The Girl Who Burns
The forest held its breath.
Ash floated like snow through the frozen air. A soldier's sword clanged to the ground, abandoned by hands that no longer existed. The smell of scorched flesh lingered—not from fire, but from something far worse. A power too ancient to name.
Riven stood at the heart of it all—trembling, eyes wide, lips parted. She was gasping like someone drowning in her own skin.
"I didn't…" she murmured again, as if repetition could reverse time. "I didn't mean to kill him."
Kael took a cautious step toward her.
"I know."
But the silver-haired commander of the Council's enforcers did not share his sympathy.
"You just wiped a man from existence without lifting a finger," she said sharply. "That's not a child's power. That's an extinction curse. Ancient. Forbidden."
Riven turned to her slowly, her pupils glowing faintly like coals at the edge of ignition.
"I don't know what I did."
The woman held her ground. "Your name?"
Riven's lips trembled. "I'm Riven."
The commander tilted her head. "Riven… of what blood?"
Kael stepped in then, placing himself between the two.
"She's mine. That's all you need to know."
The commander's eyes narrowed.
"Is that what you've told her too?" she asked quietly. "That you're her father?"
Kael didn't answer.
Fynn looked between them, confused. "Wait—what? I thought you were—"
"Fynn," Kael growled. "Now's not the time."
"No," Riven whispered, voice small. "I want to hear it."
Kael turned to her.
The wind stilled again. Even the ash paused mid-fall, as if waiting for the truth.
"You're not my daughter," Kael said finally, the words pulled from his throat like blades. "You were never mine."
Silence fell.
Riven swayed on her feet.
She didn't cry.
She didn't blink.
She simply broke.
"Then why?" she asked hoarsely. "Why protect me? Why pretend?"
Kael's voice was rough. "Because I made a promise. To the one who gave you life. The woman they burned at the stake to stop you from rising."
"Elira," Riven said, voice cracking.
Kael nodded.
"She was more than a witch. More than a wolf. She was… chosen."
"Chosen for what?" Fynn asked, voice barely a whisper.
"To birth the key," said the Council commander coldly. "The one who could open the locked gate of Arcael. The one who could restore what should've been left buried."
Riven stared at her hands. "I don't understand."
"You will," the commander said. "When the nightmares return. When the screaming starts. When the dead begin to speak again."
She signaled her soldiers.
But no one moved.
They feared the girl now. As they should.
Kael grabbed Riven's hand. "We need to move. Now."
Riven let him pull her, her mind splintering in a thousand directions.
She wasn't his daughter.
She was a weapon.
A key.
And somewhere deep inside, something had awakened… something not entirely human.
---
They ran.
Through the twisted forest, through the forgotten paths of the Nightwood. Fynn lit the way with soft green fire, his breath ragged, his mind struggling to catch up.
"She turned him to dust," he said to himself again and again. "No chant, no glyph, no incantation. Just... gone."
"She didn't mean to," Kael said flatly.
"Doesn't change the fact that she could."
They stopped by a half-collapsed ruin, hidden beneath moss and black roots. Kael knelt and touched a hidden sigil on a stone slab.
With a faint click, the stone door shifted inward.
"What is this?" Riven asked quietly.
Kael didn't meet her eyes. "A place they'll never find us."
They entered.
The darkness swallowed them whole.
---
The hideout was ancient.
Walls of blackstone, etched with old runes. The air smelled of time and dust, and something faintly metallic—blood, perhaps, long dried.
Riven sat in a corner, knees to her chest.
Kael lit a small fire.
"She needs answers," Fynn muttered.
"I know."
"So give her some."
Kael's jaw clenched.
He rose and walked to her slowly.
"I didn't mean to lie," he began. "When I found you, you were barely breathing. They'd cut her down—your mother. Burned her body. You were still in her arms. Covered in soot and blood."
Riven said nothing.
"They wanted you dead. The Council. The wolves. Even the humans. All of them were afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"That you'd inherit her."
Kael reached into his satchel and drew out a shard of crystal, wrapped in red cloth.
He handed it to her.
"Her heartstone," he said. "I kept it hidden."
Riven's hands trembled as she unwrapped it.
The crystal pulsed faintly. Alive.
And then—she heard it.
A voice. Soft. Familiar.
"Riven… my little ember… don't let them bury you. Burn."
She dropped it.
"Did you hear that?" she gasped.
Kael nodded grimly. "She left echoes. Only blood can awaken them."
"So she knew I'd…" Riven's voice cracked. "That I'd become this?"
"She hoped you'd become more."
---
Hours passed.
Night fell.
Kael stood watch at the entrance of the ruin, Fynn snoring softly behind him.
Riven couldn't sleep.
The power still hummed under her skin. Like lightning under her ribs. Like flame behind her eyes.
She rose and walked quietly down the corridor until she found a room filled with broken weapons and old books.
On the far wall was a mural—partially broken.
It showed a girl standing atop a mountain of bones, her hands bleeding fire.
Behind her: a Gate.
Vast. Etched with chains. Surrounded by wolves.
But not ordinary wolves.
They stood on two legs.
Their eyes were hollow.
One held a crown.
The mural was titled: THE HARBINGER.
Riven stared at it.
And felt her breath catch.
Because in the painting…
The girl's face was hers.
---